


Raw

by lipservice (thescariestadverbs)



Series: Raw and Reeling [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Hiding, Implied Self-Harm, M/M, On the Run, fallen!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescariestadverbs/pseuds/lipservice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s tired of his skin and everything it represents. </p><p>A different take on Cas, post season 8.</p><p>This follows along the same timeline as Reeling but from a different perspective. You don't need to have read Reeling to read this one and they can be read in any order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raw

**Author's Note:**

> This follows along the same timeline as Reeling. This is just Cas's perspective of it while Reeling is Dean's. You don't need to read Reeling to read this one but I think they go well together!

_history's made it's mark in anger_  
 _as everybody knows it's what we do_  
 _it's nothing new_  
 _the next chords struck are fault and failure_  
 _and we both know that finger points on cue_  
 _there's blame for two_

_just lie there, baby, in the past,_  
 _cause if you want it all_  
 _right now_  
 _hide your feathers, on the back porch, baby_  
 _he's coming home for_  
 _you've been such a liar_  
 _hide your feathers_  
\- Coheed  & Cambria - Feathers

It’s not the dark that keeps him running, no, even though he’s known it all his life. It’s not even what’s hiding in the dark. He isn’t afraid anymore. He thought he would be, and maybe that he was at first, but now, the dark holds nothing over him. He’s at his most vulnerable now for the first time in his existence. He should be scared. But it’s not the darkness he’s running from anymore.

It’s the fourth motel in as many days. A different name, the same dirty room. He doesn’t even think about the smell anymore, just dumps his stuff and locks the door. He checks the windows and checks the door again. He’s not jumpy, but cautious. He turns on the TV, mostly for the noise. He lays on the bed but he doesn’t sleep. He knows he should, his body needs it now, but he can’t seem to close his eyes. He reads a magazine. He changes the channel. He has a shower. 

The water pressure is shit but at least it’s warm this time. He lets the water run over him. He ignores the sharp edge of his hip bones and the sharper edge of his temper. He’s angry, of course he’s angry. He tried so hard, so fucking hard, to make everything right. Every time. And he’s the one suffering. He’s the one standing here in this dirty shower. He’s been destroyed, stripped of his purpose and left wingless, cold and naked on the ground. 

He’s the one who doesn’t deserve salvation. 

It certainly is a fitting punishment for trying so hard to repair what he broke. He pinches and pulls at his skin, trapped. Who’s broken now?

He’s not surprised to find Dean and Sam waiting for him in the room when he comes out. “You found me,” he says. He’s calculated, cold and detached on the outside but on the inside he’s screaming for a way out. His eyes dart towards the door, trying to decide if he could make it to the rental car before they caught up with him. 

“Of course we did,” Dean’s eyes are patient, loving even. They are wide with concern. 

“I told you, I don’t want to be a part of this anymore,” He tugs at the fringe on his t-shirt. He looks at the door again. He can feel his skin crawling, he’s shaking and he isn’t sure why.

“You can try, but I promise you won’t make it this time,” Dean’s patience is wearing as thin as the man quaking in front of him, “for fuck sakes’, Cas, when is the last time you ate something?”

He shrugs. He couldn’t tell him even if he wanted to, he can’t remember. Sleeping, eating. It’s all so... time consuming. 

It’s Sam’s turn to sigh, “I’m going to get some food,” he says heading towards the door. 

This is good Cas thinks to himself, now it’s just the two of them. How to get around Dean? He runs a hand through his hair and sits on the bed, “go,” he pleads, “please go. I’m out. I’m not part of this anymore.”

“Don’t you get it?” Dean slams his hand against the wall, causing their neighbor to pound back, “you’ll always be a part of this. You can’t just walk away from it.”

“Of course I can,” Cas sighs, “and I did.” He’s counting in the back of his head, can he afford another room tonight? Can he afford more gas? 

Dean shakes his head, frustrated, “it’s not just demons hunting you anymore, Cas, it’s everyone. The angels are mobilizing. They blame you. They blame us. We have to stick together,” he sits down beside Cas, “we - we’re family.” 

He doesn’t answer. He’s looking at the door again, his knee bouncing uncomfortably. He pulls away when Dean reaches for his hand. He knows the truth, you see, that it’s not him Dean really wants around anymore. He wants Castiel, Angel of the Lord. Not whatever the hell he is now. Human. Weak. Quiet. 

“You’ll be safe at the bunker, we all will be. Until we know what to do.” Dean reaches for him again and Cas lets him take his hand. 

He could go with them. And live in the bunker. He could eat hamburgers and play cards. He’s not worried about being safe. He’s not afraid of the demons or the angels or the darkness. Let it come, let it take him away from all of this. He’s not hiding from them. He’s hiding from this. This humanity. This isn’t his fight, not anymore. 

They already lost the war, why Dean couldn’t see that he didn’t know. He looks at the TV, resisting every urge to curl his fingers around Dean’s. He wouldn’t let himself give in. He has to go, he has to get out of there. He wants to stay so badly it hurts. He knows it’s time to go. 

He turns to meet Dean’s eyes for the first time since they arrived. They are dark and serious, so full of emotion that he knows isn’t mirrored in his own anymore. He can see Dean counting the ladder of scars up his arm, counting every failed attempt to escape from this human prison, eyes wet with tears and he’s trying doing everything he can not to scratch them out. 

He can’t handle this. He wasn’t made for all this... human emotion garbage. He doesn’t know what to do with it. 

The truth is, he tells himself as he stares into Dean’s eyes, is that he sees so much of what he used to be in there. He can see the pride, the lust, the light, all of it in Dean. Everything he had and everything he did wrong all rolled up into one neat package. It’s Dean who doesn’t know who he is. It’s Dean who doesn’t know how to move on.

He’s not surprised when Dean kisses him, not really. He’s more surprised when he kisses back. He can feel it spread through him, this warm sensation. It starts deep in his belly, moving up and filling him with a sense of peace. He can feel Dean’s hand on his neck, it’s so hot he’s certain it’s burning him. He can feel the softness of Dean’s tongue on his lips, urging him deeper and deeper into it.

Oh no, he doesn’t deserve this. He’s got to stop it. 

He pushes Dean back. He’s mesmerized by his lips, wet and red. Dean leans towards him, pushing him back so he’s laying on the bed with Dean on top of him. He’s whispering soothingly into Cas’s ear. His jacket moves with him and Cas catches the glint of silver tucked into his pocket. 

Cas arches up, grinding himself into Dean’s hardness and reaching into his pocket at the same time. He kisses him, hard, before wrapping his hand around Dean’s wrist, cuffing him to the bed. Dean’s eyes are wide and wild when he realizes what Cas has done. 

“I have to go,” Cas says softly, sliding out from underneath him, “you understand,I have to go.” 

Dean’s grabbing at him with his free hand, “Cas, don’t do this,” his voice is husky and raw with desire. Cas can’t help himself, he leans down and places a tender kiss to Dean’s forehead. He wrenches his arm free when he’s done and backs out of reach.

“I’m not Cas anymore,” he says, pulling at the skin around his wrist, “don’t you see? I’m human now. This is my punishment for everything, Dean. I’m human now. I don’t get to be happy. I’m stuck in this body, in this world. I don’t care who’s coming. It doesn’t matter anymore. None of it matters.”

“We can fix this,” Dean’s jerking at the cuffs. The whole bed is shaking. He’s twisting himself around to watch Cas, ignoring the tearing feeling in his shoulder, “we can fix everything, Cas.”

“Can’t you see what happens when we try to fix things? Don’t you see what we’ve done?” He grabs his bag from the floor, “goodbye, Dean,” he says shakily and walks out the door.

He can see the Impala pulling in but he ignores Sam’s calls. He looks at it for a moment, remembering, before he climbs into his own car and guns it down the road. 

It’s three days before he exhales. Three days of driving through the day and the night. His throat is raw and his stomach is curdling from the bitterness of the coffee beside him. It keeps the hunger and the exhaustion at bay. 

He takes a moment, to relish the warmth of the sun, the beauty of the highway. It’s hard to believe, sometimes, that the world is ending. It’s hard to believe that bad things can happen and angels can fall. He breathes the air in deep, feeling it expand his lungs and he breathes out long and slow and calm. 

It’s short-lived, however, because they’re close again, he can feel it as easily as the sun on his face. He knew they’d follow, they always follow. He counts the minutes before he sees the Impala in his rearview mirror. They are keeping their distance, though, probably biding their time before he stops. 

He feels his knee start to shake. Nerves maybe. Or caffeine. He wipes his hands on his jeans and tries to focus on the road. How many times are they going to have to do this?

The truth, as he tells himself anyway, is that he doesn’t deserve them. He doesn’t deserve the unconditional brotherhood. He doesn’t deserve their forgiveness and he doesn’t want it. Let the demons come. Let the angels come. Let them bring the wrath of Heaven down upon him. Send him to hell. Let the Leviathans hunt him down. He deserves that. 

But he doesn’t deserve Dean Winchester, with his dark, serious eyes and soft, pink lips. 

He drives through the afternoon. He’ll outrun them, he tells himself, he just needs to find another highway and he can lose them in the dead of night. 

It’s because the car is basically running on fumes that he pulls into the turn off and stops by the trees. Or at least he tells himself. He’s standing by the water when he hears the car door slam, “you shouldn’t be here,” he calls without turning around, tugging the sleeves on his jacket down. 

“Yeah, well, neither should you,” Dean snaps, “I’m getting tired of this game, Cas.” 

He shakes his head, “it’s no game.” 

“C’mon,” Sam tries, stepping between them and skirting around the tension, “we need you.” 

“No,” he says quietly, the wind carrying his words, “you need Cas. Or an angel. I am neither.” He’s tired, so tired. Tired of being human, of being angry, of being tired and hungry and alone. He’s tired of being punished. He’s tired of his skin and everything it represents. He’s tired of feeling raw and open and naked and flightless.

And Sam laughs, actually laughs at him, “you really think you’re the only one who’s lost something here?”

“Sam,” Dean hisses but he’s quickly cut off. 

“You really think the only way we would want you around is because you were an angel? Look around you, there are no angels anymore. That’s on you, I get that, but we are still at war, Cas. The war doesn’t end just because you say it does.” Sam’s voice is calm but forceful. Cas can hear the tension and the terror running dangerously close to his words, “we don’t get to walk away, Cas. We never will. We are part of it. We gave up our lives a long time ago. What makes you think you get to keep yours?”

“That’s enough, Sam,” Dean says tersely.

Sam throws his hands up in the air, “no it’s not, Dean, but he doesn’t care.” 

Sam’s words hit home, though, and for a moment he falters. He’s can feel the blood boiling under his skin, bubbling to the surface. He can hear it rushing past his ears and pounding in his head. It throbs and spreads. 

“They aren’t just coming for you,” Sam continues, “they are coming for all of us. We have a better chance together. You think just because you can’t kill a demon with a single touch that you’re useless to us? Welcome to the club, cos I can’t do it anymore either.” Sam reaches behind himself and pulls his gun out. Cas is silent and stoic, eyes on the pistol as Sam brings it forward.

“Whoa, whoa,” Dean grabs for Sam’s arm.

Sam’s quicker. He doesn’t raise the gun, of course, because that is exactly what Cas would want. It would be so easy to die now. He meets Sam’s eyes, begging him to release him from this human prison. Instead, Sam throws the gun to Cas’s feet and storms back to the car. 

“You’re the one who doesn’t get it. You’re so goddamned angry, and I get it cos I would be too. We can’t change what happened and we can’t walk away from this. Not yet,” Dean says quietly, he turns to follow his brother. 

He crouches down by the river. He runs his hand through his hair. He stares at the gun for a moment before he reaches out and picks it up slowly. He tests the weight in his hand. He’s willing his headache to go away. He stares at the gun and for the first time in months he tries to pray.

He prays for solace, for forgiveness. He prays for guidance, for peace. He prays for Sam and Dean and their safety. He prays for answers, for truths. For the first time in a long time he prays for himself. The gun is hot in his hand when he’s asking God for a chance to make it right. He releases the safety and stares down the line of the gun. He never liked guns before, though, he never needed them either. 

A single gun’s not going to stop an army anyway.

There’s a price on his head and he knows it. Maybe he should just wait for it, let them tear him apart and claim victory. He puts the safety back on the gun and slips it into the waistband of his jeans. It burns his skin. He turns around to see Dean leaning against the driver’s side of the Impala, watching him intensely. 

It’s maybe forty-five steps or so but each one seems longer than the last. He can’t meet Dean’s eyes when he reaches them, nor Sam’s in the front seat. He reaches out slowly, tentatively, to touch Dean’s shoulder. It’s not exactly the right spot but he can feel it, as certainly as Dean can. Even Heaven can’t break their bond. 

He shoves Dean back roughly, kissing him hard. All the pent up frustration and sadness, all the loss he’s been carrying he shoves all that in too. The kiss is less of a kiss and more of a plea. He might as well be on his knees begging. 

“You aren’t going to cuff me to the car this time, are you?” it’s meant to be funny but neither of them are laughing. 

“I don’t know who I am,” Cas backs up quickly, looking down at the ground, “why am I here, Dean? Why am I still here?” 

“I don’t know,” Dean pulls him back, close enough to feel Cas’s breath on his cheek. 

“I should be dead.”

Dean kisses him on the forehead, hard, “I should be too. Why did you bring me back?”

“You have a purpose,” Cas says thoughtfully, closing his eyes at the contact, “this world needs you.”

Pushing off the car, Dean kisses him hungrily. While Cas’s kiss may have seemed more like a prayer Dean’s is all rough and demanding. He’s not holding back. He’s all hands and lips and Cas can’t breathe. When he finally releases Cas he opens the door to the back seat, “well, maybe it needs you too. We need you, Cas. Are you ready?”


End file.
